Parting Gift
by TutorGirlml
Summary: Post - "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter" one-shot; Emma can't let go of Graham without some sort of sign...


_Author's Note: Okay, so I'm always a little nervous when I post a story for a fandom I haven't written in before, but here we go… I discovered "Once Upon A Time" this summer, and now I am completely obsessed! I'm still mourning the loss of my favorite character in the first season, so this little one shot was born of watching that character's last episode repeatedly and wishing there could have been just a little bit more before he was gone…_

_Author's Note 2: I'm re-posting this with a few small, suggested corrections and a couple small adjustments. Enjoy – and of course I'd love to hear what you think of it._

_As always, I do not own any of the characters nor any part of the show. I just love it! _

**Parting Gift**

_*Flashback*_

_A single tear treks down his cheek – so delicate, so vulnerable after the experience of his raw, electric, masculine presence when they had kissed mere moments before. She is transfixed now by that single tear making its way from his searching gaze as he pulls back to look at her. She wants to brush the tear away, to comfort him, to be there for him in any way she can – an emotion she usually keeps so tightly under wraps as not to feel it at all. Yet, she is nearly frozen, staring at him, trying to catch her breath and understand what has just happened._

_ "Thank you…" he whispers, taking her face in his hands, gently caressing her cheeks with the pads of his callused thumbs, cradling her head almost reverently. _

_Her brow furrows, not understanding why he should be thanking her, not sure what she has done to earn his gratitude. She begins to ask him, but then he is reeling her back in for another kiss, and she feels her arms coming up to encircle his wiry frame, to pull him in and urge him on. For once, she welcomes a connection and saves her doubts and fears for later._

_He is on the verge of capturing her lips in his own once more when he stiffens and stumbles backward, a look of true physical pain crossing his face as he gasps._

"_Graham?" she questions him, alarmed and reaching out now to steady, to catch him, instead of pull him into her embrace. "What is it? What's happening?!"_

"_Emma, I…" but no more words come out to finish his thought. Instead, he flops against the desk behind him and then sprawls headlong onto the hard, cold, cement floor of the station, despite her attempts to slow his fall._

"_Graham? Graham!" she screeches, her voice pitching higher with panic – frightening, even to her own ears. Emma falls to her knees beside his inert form, latching onto his shoulders to shake him, and half-raising his torso to hold him in her arms. "Wake up!"_

_She fumbles in the breast pocket of her red leather jacket, recently discarded on her desktop, trying to remove her cell with shaking fingers and open it to call 911. Giving the operator her location and the nature of her emergency, she cannot help staring helplessly at Graham's face, begging his eyes to open, noticing in sudden alarm how very warm his body feels and how he is still struggling to breathe. Gently, Emma brushes her hand along his stubbled cheek and smoothes an errant curl of his sandy hair off of his forehead, only to find it damp with sweat, his skin on fire with fever._

_Against all hope, while she is holding her breath and praying to hear the sirens on the way, his golden, long-lashed eyelids flutter open, finally managing to focus tenderly on her. "Emma?" he murmurs, seeming confused, lost, speaking to her hopefully, as if afraid she will have vanished while his eyes were closed._

"_Graham, I'm right here," she squeezes his hand, leaning over him to be more fully within his field of vision. "Hang in there, okay? Help is coming."_

_His deep, warm, glistening eyes find her gaze at last and hold her, needing to speak before it is too late. "They won't make it in time…" he pants, his breathing labored by the literal hand crushing his heart. He can feel the constricting pressure in his chest, just where his heart ought to be, leaving him floundering for air like a fish just pulled from its water. "Just…let me…speak…please?... Before she…finally…takes my life."_

"_She? Graham, I don't understand…" Tears flow freely down Emma's cheeks now – a overwhelming show of emotion that she hates for anyone to see._

_He wants to brush the tears away, to comfort her, but finds that there is no strength left within him to move even the tiniest bit. It is all he can do to try to force out words. "At least…I…know now…why I couldn't… take the life…of Snow White… She took my heart…for it… But…without that day…there would be no you…"_

_Emma's brow scrunches up even further, her refusal to believe in fairy tales making his last words, his attempt to explain and set her free from guilt or blame, instead sound like the gibberish of a fever dream. _

_The vision of her beautiful face above him is narrowing, dimming at the edges to show only the golden halo glow of her hair and her frantic, aching eyes. So little time they've had…so few of these precious moments when he can finally, truly, feel. "You…gave me back… myself… Emma," he breathes out one last time, and then he is still. His eyes no longer fight to stay open, his chest no longer heaves. A long, ear-splitting wail of ambulance sirens finally slices through the still night as they near the Sheriff's office, but they are too late, just as he had known they would be. He is gone. Emma gives into the sobs that batter her being; a long, keening cry wrenching from her in this last second she will ever share with him alone. She only just found him…and now she is lost…_

******0000000********* *******000000******

Weeks passed before Emma was able to take his jacket down from the hall tree where it had appeared _as if by magic _– just where it had always hung – and hold it close, letting herself be reminded of, and then enveloped by, Graham's scent: a mix of earthy, rain-washed grass and soil, sharp pine, fresh air, and some sort of spicy musk. Once she had the jacket in her hands, she had buried her nose in the collar, silent tears falling for the first time since the night of his death. She hadn't wanted Graham's things when Gold had first offered them to her, not needing a reminder that she had barely gotten to know him; she certainly didn't want to dwell on the face that even with the fleeting length of their acquaintance she seemed to be the only person he'd had to care for him, or even to take his things when he was gone. It also reminded her painfully what always happened when she let her walls down. Get close to someone, and that person will be ripped away. That person will pay the price.

Now she knows everything; when she saved Henry and broke the spell, all of Regina's secrets came to light. Graham didn't have a sudden heart attack; it wasn't a tragic accident. Regina had crushed his heart into dust for leaving her and attempting to free himself from his curse. Emma wanted the Evil Queen punished for Graham's murder; she wanted to reach into the woman's chest herself and give her a taste of her own methods. None of it would bring him back though, and Emma knew that "the Savior" – as everyone now insisted on calling her – couldn't go around exacting personal vengeance, even if it would have made a difference.

Instead, she forced herself back to composure, wiped her tears with the heel of her hand, and drew in a deep, calming breath. There was a tremor in her hand as she brushed hair back from her face, slowly slid her jacket off her shoulders, and draped it over the back of her desk chair. She pulled on his jacket in its place, sticking her arms into the slightly too-long sleeves and snuggling into the roomy, fleece-lined comfort of his clothing, imagining it still held his welcoming, gentle warmth, letting his pretended nearness comfort her for a moment.

After a while, she picked up her keys and walked out of the station, determination in her steps, as if she had suddenly found and set her course. Graham's jacket hung off her shoulders and down over her fingers, the bottom hem well below her waist, but she didn't care about appearances; it was all she had of him, and right now she wanted it near her.

She made a quick path to the outskirts of the town as the sun fell out of the sky. Dusk was coming on as she reached the forest's edge, and that somehow felt fitting. Graham had been The Huntsman, most comfortable in the wild and separated from it for too long by evil. She felt closer to him here, in his element.

The trees welcomed her, swallowing her in their lush silence as she disappeared within the circle of their branches and left the world outside behind. Picking her way through weeds and over rocks and fallen logs in the dim light, she kept going until she came to a clearing where she stopped, simply listening to leaves rustling in the slight breeze, birds twittering, and crickets chirping. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to breathe it all in and feel the place around her, let it soothe her weary, grieving soul. In all honesty, she was hoping for some sort of sign, to feel in communion with his spirit.

Then, she heard a rustling which caused her eyes to snap open again. There, across the clearing, on top of a small rise before the trees reclaimed the area was a single wolf. It was all-white, and it stood staring at her with an almost sentient look of study. Emma wondered for a moment if she should be scared, but she wasn't. It was like this wolf knew her. Was he the same wolf she and Graham had followed to Regina's vault? Did this wolf know Graham, as he had tried to tell her?

The gorgeous wild creature trotted forward, and Emma forced her trembling body not to move as it neared her. Coming to stand before her, the wolf snuffled lightly at her sleeve, whined sadly, as if understanding the jacket she wore was hers now and no longer his "brother's". Woman and animal eyes met and held, taking Emma's breath away when she sensed that the wolf knew her pain and felt it too. Then, if an animal can truly smile, it was almost as though it did so, releasing her from the trance she felt she had entered. Loping back the way it had come, the white wolf turned to look at her just once more, at the tree line where it had appeared. The wolf dipped its head, as if giving her a nod or bowing to her, holding her gaze for one second longer, before turning to disappear into the deeper woods.

In the gathering twilight, Emma stood several minutes more, clutching Graham's jacket around her, almost able to imagine it was his arms. A measure of peace did visit her there between the trees after seeing Graham's wolf – as if she had been given the sign she had sought. A chance for a better farewell. The realization that he had not been forgotten by all but her. When she turned to leave the woods, in some small way, he went with her.


End file.
